weren’t eight-bedroom Brownstones set in luxurious gardens, but they were someone’s castle, and it was clean. Sure, the road needed a bit of work but hell, that was the council’s fault, not my people’s.
When I walked through the gateway, I instantly saw an older woman sitting on a wooden deck, rocking on a spindly chair, a tray of tea on a stand beside her. It felt like she was waiting on me, even though she most definitely wasn’t. Christ, I hadn’t been sure if I was coming, but being in the area was an opportunity I hadn’t been able to pass up.
Sometimes, I wondered if I was lucky, even if I didn’t feel like it.
The mobile home park was dead. No one was around. Except for that one woman, and I knew that if anyone would be aware of my past, it would be the older generation.
I hadn’t been around here for over a decade, my nanny had been dead for that length of time. Only those who’d been friends with her would remember her.
At least, I was hoping that was the case.
Anywhere else in the world, ten years would be way too long. But here? In this close-knit community? Nothing was forgotten.
Including if someone was an outcast or not.
Which meant a long memory was a double-edged sword.
Because if they didn’t forget, they didn’t forgive either.
Rather than hesitate or deliberate over what to say, I stepped over to her property, hoping she wouldn’t shoo me away.
Only, the second I did, I saw it. Scented it.
God, it had been a long time since I’d felt the overpowering stench of death. Even when I’d been in the hospital after the incident, I hadn’t experienced it, but now, I did.
It was here.
Overtaking the deck the woman was sitting on, merging into the wood itself. It overtook the lingering essence of freshly mowed grass, and the faint odor of gas in the air from the nearby road.
She was a little hunched in the shoulders, her face lined, but she had clear gray eyes that weren’t cloudy with age. Her skin was a sharp bronze, maybe a little ruddier than mine, and the contrast of her black dress, which hung on her frame, made her look like she might have dropped a lot of weight recently, something that confirmed my initial appraisal—she was sick. Terminally so.
Her hair was covered by a kerchief, and in her ears, she had Creole earrings that swayed as she tilted her head to the side, watching my approach with interest.
When I reached her plot, a tight space with a neat patch of lawn that was tiny because of the pretty extensive decking, I stood on the line between the grass and the road.
“You’re Nicodemus’s girl.”
My eyes flared wide at that, at what had definitely been a declaration. My mouth quivered a little because, in all honesty, it had been such a long time since I’d heard my father’s name that I just hadn’t expected to hear it. Nanny’s? Sure. But my father’s?
I had strange memories of him, not entirely good ones, but her statement sent a shudder whispering through me.
I had a past.
History.
And she was my link to it.
Maybe my only link.
It had been so long since I’d been connected to anyone, so fucking long, that this was a crowning moment in my life.
I was someone’s girl. For so long, I’d just been a case number.
Here?
I was Nicodemus’s kid.
Licking my lips, I told her the truth. “It’s been a long time since I heard his name.”
She shrugged. “Been a long time since the Lord took him.” Her lips pursed, revealing a hundred tiny lines as she stared at me some more. “Allegria passed?”
My throat felt thick. God, if it messed with my heart to hear Papa’s name, then Nanny’s?
Tears stung my eyes, burning so fierce that for a second, I had no choice but to raise my hands and cover my face.
We were emotional people, unashamed of tears, whether they were of laughter or joy—I remembered that much about my community, even if I’d been barred from it—but I hadn’t been raised Romany. I’d been raised to shield my emotions. Still, there was no way I could control these tears, no way at all.
A tutting sound reached out and embraced me. “She took too much of others into her to live long. But I know she wouldn’t have wanted to leave you, child.” She cleared her throat. “You’re Theodosia, aren’t you?”
That she remembered my name had me controlling myself just